


Could You Be More Annoying?

by napoleondarling



Category: Batman - Fandom, Bruce Wayne - Fandom, DC Comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napoleondarling/pseuds/napoleondarling





	

Shifting in your seat, you tugged the edges of your dress down by their sides so that the fabric rested at the top of your knee, trying to look as inconspicuous as you could be fixing your dress in public, hoping that the ever watchful eye of the media undoubtedly at this gala didn’t notice Bruce Wayne’s date looking utterly uncomfortable as you waited for the aforementioned man to return with your drinks. 

You hadn’t wanted to go, not really, but Bruce had pleaded with you enough times to get you to cave. The reporters liked to find their way to you, seeking useless, but attention getting information about what it’s like dating a billionaire or worse, if the one with the pen and paper was brave, if you were only with Bruce for the money. 

Seeing a glass of champagne appear out of the corner of your eye, you felt your shoulders slump slightly as the weight of being approached while without Bruce dissipated, relief floating to the surface like the bubbles in your glass. 

“Enjoying yourself?” His smooth voiced sounded next to your ear as he grabbed a chair by its top rail and tugged it away from the table before taking a seat. You desperately wanted to give him a blatant ‘no, that you weren’t having fun and that you’d prefer to have stayed home’, but you cared about his feelings, so decided against hit. 

“It’s okay. Only a few reporters asked me what I was wearing.” You spoke over the rim of your glass, taking a large swig of your drink as you finished. As if deciding that was a good idea, Bruce did the same before once more rising to his feet.

Reading you like a book, Bruce could tell you were uncomfortable and was inwardly grateful you were trying your best to enjoy yourself. “Let’s dance.” He wanted you to let loose, at least for the night. You stared apprehensively at his outstretched hand. 

Brown eyes stared down at you, sparkling with something like mischief and adoration mixed with a begging look that wanted you to say yes. You got to your feet, slipping your hand into his own and let him lead you to the dance floor. “Fine, but you know I have two left feet.”

An all too familiar smirk tugged at one side of his mouth before he decided to speak. 

“Don’t argue. You already agreed; no take backs.”

All you did was hum in response, but the grin threatening to spill into a full grin was obvious on your face. You stood close enough to Bruce that you could smell his aftershave, practically resisting the urge to get even closer and bury your face in his neck to live there forever. 

He hand a large hand resting your hip, the touch sending sparks through your skin and it took everything in you to not shiver and give yourself away. The other was in your hand, nearly engulfing it, fingers so gentle it made you wonder how the man has killed people with them.  
You were glad he decided to take lead, flawlessly moving with you across the dance floor despite your own dancing plunders.

You heard the sound of a camera before you saw the flash, and you were suddenly reminded that all eyes were on you. Bruce noticed the shift in your attitude immediately and pursed his lips in thought. 

Telling the media to book it would be no use-the tabloid the next day would just ream him out for being an ill-behaved guest, so instead of paying them any mind, he just kept his attention on you.  
When he smiled, you grew suspicious. 

“Bruce,” you stared warningly, unsure about what he was thinking. You could hear the wheels turning in his head. Before you could utter another word, however, you were watching back of the man you love walk away from you and towards the DJ. 

As if with perfect timing, the second he returned ‘Intergalactic’ by the Beastie Boys started to blare through the speakers. It was only that second you realized what the vigilante was up to, and you began to shake your head as he grew nearer. 

“Bruce, no-” 

“Bruce yes. You need to loosen up. Have some fun.” You almost wanted to throw that one back in his face, but bit the inside of your cheek when you saw him begin to dance surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) well to the song. 

Face palming, you peeked at him through your fingers. “Could you be more annoying?” It was rhetorical, but he still decided to answer. 

“Could you be any more a stick in the mud?” His teasing tone paired with what he said made you gawk for a few seconds before you remembered you didn’t want any flies in your mouth. 

He grew a bit more serious at this, once more holding out his hand. “Sweetheart, I invited you to come with me because I thought we’d have fun. Worrying about what other people here think is useless.”  
He was right, you had to give him that. Nights like these were few and far between with Bruce-most of his nights spent in a bat costume patrolling Gotham City. 

“Alright,” you emphasized this with a nod, “you’re right. We’re going to have fun.” Stepping closer to him, you began to dance, albeit a bit tentatively at first, but soon getting the hang of it. 

By the end of the night, you had completely forgotten about your worries.  
“Thank you…” You looked up at him from the crook of his arm as he escorted you both back to the car. 

“Really, I didn’t think I was going to enjoy myself tonight, but I did.” 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Anything for you.”


End file.
